


My Favourite Picture of You (Is the One Where Your Wings Are Showing)

by Neurotoxia



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU April, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Inner Dialogue, M/M, Post-Break Up, Pre-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the first family gathering since the break-up and Jesus has locked himself in the bathroom to stare at Daryl’s pictures and make bad choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Favourite Picture of You (Is the One Where Your Wings Are Showing)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [ this prompt](http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/135506039240/post-breakup-aus) and just in time for the end of AU April!

Jesus feels pathetic, hiding in the bathroom at his grandmother’s birthday party. He’s hunched on the edge of the bathtub, stashed between rose scented potpourri on the windowsill and an assortment of shampoos and lotions on the counter to his right. On a normal day, Jesus doesn’t linger in his gran’s bathroom longer than necessary because the decor is an optical offence committed in the Sixties and it smells exactly the way you imagine an elderly lady’s bathroom to smell: heavy perfume, disinfectant and something Jesus can only describe as ‘old people.’

And now he’s cowering here, staring at the screen of his phone, thumbing through every single picture he ever took of his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. The ‘ex’ is important because that’s the root of his current pitiable behaviour.

All because his little cousin Stacy came running with bright eyes and a smile that revealed the gap in her teeth, asking where Daryl was. He’d promised to show her how to make a bow and arrows, she proclaimed, bouncing on her feet and tugging on Jesus’ arm – the one where he still keeps one of Daryl’s red bandanas as a wristband because he likes to torment himself. With Jesus at a momentary loss for words, his mum swept in, telling Stacy that Daryl couldn’t come because of work and that he was real sorry he couldn’t show her.

Jesus threw his mother a thankful glance as he excused himself to the bathroom, much like Stacy just about ready to burst into tears. Though unlike with her, it wouldn’t be as endearing or prompt the adults to coo and make gentle hushing noises.

No one else has asked after Daryl today and no one has mentioned him in conversation so far. Jesus’ mum must have warned them and he isn’t sure whether he’s grateful for that or not. But then again, he called her two weeks ago in the dead of the night after Daryl had slammed the door behind him. Preceded by a horrible fight and a declaration that they were done. Even at the age of thirty-two, during worst moments he needs to speak to his mother. And she’ll listen, despite it being one in the morning. Cautioning the family after that call must have been the sensible path in her opinion.

Jesus stays his hand on one of the rare shots he has of Daryl and him together. It’s of last year’s 4th of July picnic, one they spent with Jesus’ family in Virginia. His oldest cousin Sam had taken the photograph of them dozing sprawled out on the picnic blanket after too many of uncle Richard’s quarter pounders combined with devious amounts of bourbon. Jesus’ head is buried in Daryl’s chest, cheek planted on one of Daryl’s countless flannel shirts (one of the many that mysteriously lost its sleeves after purchase – not that Jesus minded) while Daryl has his arm wound around Jesus’ waist, pressing him close. That’s the most affectionate he’s ever been in public and Jesus was glad someone managed to get a picture of it.

Not that Jesus is a great fan of PDA, but it pleased him when Daryl relaxed enough to at least touch him in public, far away from rural Georgia mountains and his family.

Daryl’s family – the factor that determined the timing and rhythm of their relationship. Jesus has been understanding; he knows that not everyone has the luck to grow up in an accepting and loving home where coming out won’t make you fear for your life. Daryl didn’t have that. Jesus knows Daryl’s father used to beat him – he’s studied the shape of every single scar the belt had left on Daryl’s back. It’s not a stretch to imagine what a man who marathons Fox News and disdains everyone who isn’t a conservative white male heterosexual, would do if he found out that his son is in a relationship with another man. Never mind that he already considers his son a good-for-nothing disgrace. And from what he’s heard, Daryl’s older brother Merle shares those world views, even if he loves his brother. Not exactly the family who’d take it in stride. Jesus hasn’t been a fan of the sneaking around, of only seeing Daryl when the man was confident his brother wouldn’t notice him missing for the night. They’d get some days together when Merle landed himself in prison again or needed to disappear for a while for various reasons (and a lot of them have to do with drugs). Their father doesn’t care where Daryl goes off to as long as he pops back up eventually.

Jesus scrolls through a few more pictures of Daryl on his bike, staring into the distance or smoking, and his favourite of Daryl taking his bike apart roadside after it had gone belly up in the middle of nowhere. He’s sitting cross-legged by its side, deep in concentration over the guts of the machine. Sunlight illuminates the dirty white wings on the back of Daryl’s leather vest – the one clothing item he is permanently attached to. Countless jokes have been made about Jesus and his guardian angel riding into the sunset and Daryl only rolls his eyes at them. Some of them were really clever, Jesus always found. They’ve spent so much time on bikes, driving out to forsaken places to be alone – their shared passion for motorcycles being what made them talk to each other in the first place. Jesus bike is always parked behind the bar where he works at, standing out against the row of battered pick-up trucks. Daryl had commented on it the first time he’d been to the bar, on a successful errand for his brother and rendered talkative by virtue of beer. They’d had a lively discussion on bikes during which Jesus spent ample time admiring Daryl’s flexing biceps. Apparently he’d stared enough that Jesus’ boss Hank had noticed and then laughed at him when they closed up. Hank knows Jesus is gay and thankfully doesn’t care – even tried to set him up with his gay nephew from Atlanta one time. Which had been awkward and thankfully not repeated. Jesus hadn’t expected to see Daryl again after that night, he’d mentioned being from the next county over – a good thirty miles away and Hank’s bar wasn’t spectacular enough to keep you coming back when there were ten places just like it much closer to you.

But Daryl did come back. And more than once.

Only recently, and under the influence of alcohol, Daryl admitted he’d come back for Jesus – something Jesus always suspected but Daryl resists admitting anything that makes him look like a sap. Despite that initial interest, it took months before Jesus got to back Daryl into a wall behind the bar one night and kiss him breathless between empty beer bottles, cigarette butts and the smell of urine, but once he did he knew he’d lost his heart.

Jesus hasn’t minded the secretiveness so much, hasn’t minded that Daryl saved him as ‘Paula’ on his phone because his brother has a habit of stealing it (and some texts would be pretty incriminating coming from a guy), has been fine with never having been to Daryl’s place. He knows Daryl only keeps one printed picture of him around, one that’s stuffed deep into the inner pocket of his leather vest because he knows Merle won’t touch the vest. Jesus makes up for it by taking countless photos of Daryl and hoarding them on his phone. And even though he’s never liked it, Jesus had accepted that the price of being with Daryl was only being able to see him irregularly. It got harder the longer they’d been together – Jesus increasingly felt playing second fiddle to the whims of Daryl’s family. Perhaps the resentment wasn’t fair because Daryl never intended it to be that way, but Jesus is only human and the complete lack of progress in that area frustrated him. He never would have asked Daryl to abandon Merle because Daryl loved his brother, but when two weeks ago Daryl told him he wouldn’t be able to come round for a while because Merle was getting out of prison and needed him close by, the growing crack in Jesus’ patience burst and landed them into a fight Jesus still does his best to forget.

It’s the fight that made Daryl walk out and not come back. Jesus hasn’t been able to make himself delete Daryl’s number or any of his pictures – hell, he’s still wearing the damn bandana around his wrist. But he might be asking too much of himself to let go of nearly four years of relationship within two weeks. Even if he is the one that said he was done. Jesus is anything but.

Later, he’ll blame the heavy perfume for the temporary leaving of his senses, because he has no clue what leads him from staring at Daryl sprawled on Jesus’ dingy couch and gesticulating at the tv with his beer bottle (probably scoffing at one of Jesus’ beloved horror flicks again) to dialling Daryl’s number (he really should have deleted it), but here he is. Just before it dawns on him what he’s doing, the dial tone ends abruptly with the sound of Daryl’s voice.

“Yeah?”

Hearing his voice again renders Jesus speechless save for: “Uh…”

There’s silence on the other end for a few beats and all Jesus can hear is the echo of a cheering crowd, tinny and muted like it’s coming from a bad set of speakers. “Paul?” Daryl then asks, confused. Paul. It’s either Daryl’s attempt at creating distance or someone’s in the room with him. Daryl never calls him Paul.

“…Yes,” Jesus admits. Hanging up now would be childish.

In the background, the sound of the tv is interrupted by a door falling in its lock with a soft click and the next thing he hears is cars passing by and a few birds trilling in the distance. Daryl must have gone outside. Company in the room it is.

“What is it?” Daryl mumbles, presumably around the butt of a cigarette.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I dialled your number. It’s just–“ Jesus knows he’s rambling and yet can’t stop.

“Just what?”

“Never mind,” Jesus mutters. “It’s stupid. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Nah, come on,” Daryl says and when has Jesus ever been able to deny him?

“Stacy just asked where you were. She was all excited because of that bow and arrow thing you promised her,” Jesus says, already feeling embarrassed. “I dunno. I got upset and next thing I know I’m calling you. Told you it’s stupid.” Daryl doesn’t have to know he’s been wistfully staring at his pictures, too. It’s pathetic enough as it is.

“Ain’t stupid,” Daryl replies after a moment of silence. Maybe it’s just Jesus’ wishful thinking, but he sounds a little subdued. “You okay?”

That, Jesus thinks, is a stupid question. “No, I’m not.” He doesn’t feel like lying about it to spare Daryl’s feelings. It’s evident he’s not okay.

Daryl is quiet on the other end, but there is another voice appearing in the background. It’s muffled, but Jesus thinks he can make out Daryl’s brother yelling about ‘what the hell he’s doin’ out there.’ He’s heard Merle speak before, the man has a distinct raspy voice.

“I gotta go,” Daryl says, “or Merle–“

“…will wonder who you’re talking to, I know,” Jesus sighs. Same shit, different day.

Now Daryl sounds uncomfortable. They’ve ended countless conversations in haste with Daryl’s bother or father threatening to butt in. It’s always given Daryl a bad conscience, having to shut down the call like that no matter what they are talking about at that moment, but the paranoia wins out. The most memorable of these incidents was Daryl hanging up on him while Hank drove Jesus to the hospital. He’d crashed his bike and had broken his ankle on top of a myriad of abrasions and bruises. Jesus had been in too much pain at the time to be pissed at Daryl for leaving him hanging.

“Tell Stacy I’m sorry, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Jesus hums in agreement and after some rustling, the line goes dead.

Jesus throws his phone on the counter, leaning back and closing his eyes. Crap idea, calling Daryl. Not that he didn’t know that before. His stomach is dancing the Macarena and he doesn’t even want to get started on the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat.

He nearly topples into the tub when someone knocks on the door outside, tearing him from his reverie.

“Paul?”

His mother. Great. Not the person he wants to face now.

“You coming down? Lunch is ready,” she says, voice brimming with concern.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls back, doing his damnedest to drown out the misery in his words.

His mum hesitates, he can sense it. Jesus knows she’ll be staring down the door, torn between demanding he open up and speak to her about this or leave him to collect himself. For once, fate shows mercy and lets him have his privacy.

“Alright,” he hears her say and her steps retreat.

Jesus takes a deep breath before he grasps his phone again, pulling up the contacts and stopping at Daryl Dixon. He swipes to the left, making the red ‘delete’ toggle appear – he should do it. Remove the temptation to call him again. 

He can’t. Not yet.

With a curse, he locks the screen and gets up, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He’ll just have to keep himself from dialling it. If Daryl will be the one to give in and call him, Jesus doesn’t know what he’ll do. Answer, probably, because he has no resolve when it comes to Daryl.

Daryl doesn’t call and it hurts Jesus more than any awkward conversation could.

Jesus does his best to forget, his fingers hovering only once or twice over Daryl’s number when the days are bad and the booze is plentiful.

Jesus doesn’t call him again.

  


* * *

  


It’s years later, phones and internet long rendered useless, before he sees Daryl Dixon once more – in a time and place he least expected and wasn’t prepared for.

Jesus takes a steadying breath before he dumps the lit string of firecrackers in the bin next to him, getting ready to spring from his position and run into Daryl’s companion to take that set of keys he’s had his eyes on. If he’s being honest, he wants to run in the other direction, but his people need the supplies. Maybe he’ll be lucky and won’t be recognised. Take the keys and get out before they can ask questions.

No such luck, as it turns out.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Guy Clark - My Favourite Picture of You


End file.
